An entirely unscientific explanation of what happens inside the head of a cake designer who really should be asleep.
It’s 2am.
The house is quiet.
Well, relatively quiet. My husband is snoring, the dog is snoring, and apparently I’m the only member of this household who hasn’t mastered the art of switching off.
Everyone else has been asleep for hours.
Me?
I’m currently wondering whether I can create an entire edible installation that appears to float in mid-air.
Nobody has asked me to make one.
I don’t have a wedding booked that requires one.
I haven’t even established whether it’s physically possible.
But apparently, this is information my brain considers absolutely essential at two o’clock in the morning.
Welcome to my head.
The Problem With Quiet
I can’t sleep without background noise.
You would think that after a full day of designing, baking, decorating and running a business, my brain would be delighted to have a rest.
Absolutely not.
The minute things go quiet, it starts.
Oh, wait. What about…
And off we go.
Sometimes it’s something I need to remember to do tomorrow.
Sometimes it’s an idea for a cake.
Sometimes it’s a completely random question that has absolutely nothing to do with anything I’ve been doing that day.
And sometimes it’s triggered by something ridiculously small.
A word in a social media post.
Something someone says on television.
A colour combination.
An interesting shape.
One tiny thing and suddenly my brain has decided we’re embarking on a full research expedition.
At 2am.
Because obviously that’s the ideal time.
I Had 500 Google Tabs Open.
I’ve since managed to get that down to 490.
Before anyone congratulates me on getting organised, I should probably explain that I only closed ten because they were BakeGenie tabs. I also have 54 tabs open in private browsing
Thats 544 that are obviously essential
No, that’s not a figure of speech.
I genuinely have around 500 tabs open on my phone.
Why?
Because I might need them.
At some point.
For something.
I don’t close them because what if I forget what I was researching?
Which is slightly ridiculous when you consider that I don’t actually write anything down either.
No beautifully organised notebooks.
No carefully categorised lists of ideas.
No sophisticated system for recording creative inspiration.
It’s all in my head.
And apparently backed up by 500 Google tabs.
Anyone who borrows my phone to look something up gets quite a surprise.
I like to think of it as an extensive personal research library.
Other people might call it a problem.
One Minute It’s Cake. The Next It’s 1945.
My brain doesn’t particularly care what subject we’re discussing.
I could start by researching an unusual cake structure and end up investigating something completely unrelated.
One of my biggest rabbit holes has been researching my Nana’s history.
She was Ukrainian, survived the Second World War and eventually came to Scotland after marrying my grandfather.
Her story is extraordinary, and I’ve been trying to piece together parts of her life through historical records, family documents and research.
You would think this would be a fairly straightforward process.
It is not.
One name leads to another.
One document raises six new questions.
One historical detail sends me off investigating an entirely different part of the war.
And suddenly it’s three hours later, I’ve got another fifteen tabs open and I’m trying to decipher a handwritten record from the 1940s.
Was I supposed to be doing something else?
Probably.
Have I forgotten what it was?
Almost certainly.
But I’ve found something interesting, so obviously we must continue.
Meanwhile, Everyone Else Is Asleep.
My husband, has a remarkable ability to fall asleep.
Usually hours before me.
I suspect he has also perfected the art of pretending to listen when I start explaining my latest idea.
Although, to be fair, he doesn’t actually hear most of my nighttime ramblings.
He’s asleep.
So is Archie, our Labrador.
Both snoring.
And there I am, lying in the dark, mentally redesigning a wedding cake, investigating Ukrainian history or wondering whether some completely obscure thing is possible.
Occasionally all three.
I sometimes wonder what it must be like to simply close your eyes and go to sleep.
Sounds lovely.
Can’t relate.
It Only Takes Three Minutes.
This is perhaps the most dangerous part of my imagination.
Something incredibly small can turn into something completely ridiculous in approximately three minutes.
I’ll see something interesting.
Then I’ll wonder whether I could adapt it.
Then I’ll start thinking about materials.
Then structure.
Then how it would look.
Then how I could actually make it.
And before I’ve had time to consider whether it’s remotely sensible, I’ve decided:
YES! LET’S DO IT!
Never mind that I already have a business to run, cakes to make, a house to renovate and approximately seventeen other projects floating around in my head.
This new idea is clearly essential.
Right now.
The frustrating part isn’t coming up with ideas.
It’s finding the time to actually do them.
Because while my imagination appears to have unlimited capacity, unfortunately, the number of hours in a day does not.
A rather inconvenient design flaw, if you ask me.
The Ideas Nobody Asked For.
Some of my favourite ideas are things nobody has actually commissioned.
An edible wedding seating plan.
A dessert installation inspired by a Tree.
A miniature botanical pond with edible water, chocolate lily pads and handmade sugar flowers.
An entire installation that appears to occupy the space around it rather than simply sitting on a table.
Perfectly normal things to be thinking about while making dinner.
And the trouble is, once I’ve imagined something, I want to know whether I can actually make it.
That’s when the research starts.
Can it stand up?
Is it food-safe?
How would I transport it?
What materials would I need?
Would it survive an entire wedding reception?
Would it cost an absolute fortune?
And would anyone actually want it?
That last question usually comes considerably later than it probably should.
Sometimes Gravity Wins.
Not every idea works.
Some are impractical.
Some are too expensive.
Some would require equipment I don’t own, materials I’ve never worked with or a vehicle considerably larger than mine.
And some are simply terrible ideas.
I’m perfectly capable of admitting that.
Eventually.
But even when something doesn’t work, I rarely consider the time wasted.
I’ve usually learned something.
And that information sits somewhere in the back of my head, waiting for another idea to come along.
Because sometimes two completely unrelated thoughts eventually collide and become something rather interesting.
Which is probably how half my designs begin.
The Downside?
Sleep.
Definitely sleep.
I’d love to tell you that I have a wonderful routine where I switch off from work, relax in the evening and wake up refreshed.
Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t seem particularly interested in that arrangement.
The moment I think I’m ready to sleep, it remembers something.
Or questions something.
Or invents something.
And the problem is, I can’t just leave it until morning.
What if I forget?
What if it’s important?
What if I’ve just thought of something brilliant?
What if I really do need to know the answer to this completely irrelevant question immediately?
So out comes the phone.
Another Google search.
Another tab.
And another perfectly good opportunity to sleep disappears.
Would I Change It?
Well, I wouldn’t mind a few more hours of sleep.
And perhaps a brain that occasionally acknowledged the existence of bedtime.
But the curiosity?
The imagination?
The slightly ridiculous ability to turn one tiny observation into an entire project before I’ve finished my coffee?
No.
That’s the part I love.
It’s why I see possibilities in things that have absolutely nothing to do with cake.
It’s why I enjoy experimenting with materials, shapes and techniques.
And it’s why my designs don’t always follow the expected rules.
Because somewhere between the random questions, historical research, architectural ideas and 500 open Google tabs, there’s usually something worth exploring.
I just wish it would occasionally wait until a more reasonable hour.
Anyway, I Really Should Get Some Sleep.
I’ve got cakes to make tomorrow.
For actual customers.
Not imaginary floating dessert installations.
Not an entirely new concept I’ve invented while brushing my teeth.
And definitely not another three-hour research expedition into something that happened eighty years ago.
So I’m putting my phone down.
Closing my eyes.
And switching off.
Although…
I’ve just remembered something.
I wonder if…
Oh, for goodness’ sake.
Tab 501.
Goodnight.
Probably.
Kerrie